Only Time
by stormsandsins
Summary: Fairytales end when they do for a reason, she said. She was right, because the heart remembers a real loss.
1. Prologue: The Man Who Cannot Move

**Author's note**: I seem to have an affliction. I cannot finish fics but for every one I can't bring myself to finish another one pops.

So this was inspired by the brilliant work of Cosmic Teardust at youtube: youtube . com /watch?v=XEokqJt8tI4 :) That is excellent video editing.

But about this fic? Hmm it gave me hell at first, but I think I found my footing. We'll just have to see. Chapter one is ready but I'm an unhappy early bird tomorrow. But just so you know, next chap looks up ;)

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**PROLOGUE: THE MAN WHO CANNOT MOVE**

_Who can say why your heart sights as your life flies? Only time.  
And who can say why your heart cries when your love lies? Only time._

_- Enya, Only Time_

_Three years ago…_

London. It rained. When did it not rain? Chuck wondered, watching the drops plunk against the thick glass, the machine gun-like sounds agressing to his ears. All this was nothing like the dull roar and thud of his blood in his veins. Dread. This was… it, what he'd been asking for and yet hated to do. He wanted nothing more than to tear down the perfect damask wallpapered walls around him. Yet he did… nothing. Couldn't move.

It was full night here, evening in New York, and he pondered incessantly whether it was as drab and dark there as it was here. Sunless, nothing but doom and gloom, for days going on to a few weeks. He supposed he deserved it, the darkness, the lack of warmth. He had brought it onto himself.

"Chuck…" Eyes closed, body locked in an aural trance that had everything to do with his cowardice as well as the despair in her voice, he listened and wanted to die. "Where are you?" Blair's small, hurt voice cut him deep as it continued. "It's been weeks. You left with no word." He imagined her hugging herself, and heard rustling, as though she were sliding down a wall slowly. "I wish you'd called at least once." And then he heard it.

Chuck shot back the Scotch in his glass as far back his throat to occupy his fingers.

She was crying. Sniffling, really, but _crying_. And he was totally helpless, more so than ever because he was an ocean away and he _still_ had the damn power to make her cry when, this time, he only wanted to make it stop, his hurting her, forever. He had no right to make her cry anymore, never had had it in the first place, but now less than ever before because he was _gone_. Making her cry had been his furthest wish.

Suddenly he heard her heaved breath – his brave, brave Blair – and her hollow voice spoke again with unimaginable strength that he'd always seen in her, and he knew she would finally… "Goodbye, Chuck."

_Click_.

… let go.

_She will never call again_. Chuck snapped his phone shut and sent it sailing away, uncaring if all those precious saved soundbytes were destroyed. It would not be the first thing around him that was.


	2. Chapter One: Catch Her If He Can

**Author's note**: You guys are freakin' lucky. You get two pieces in one day. Pfft, spoiled brats.

**CHAPTER ONE: CATCH HER IF HE CAN**

_'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me,  
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I can be,  
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet,  
And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street._

_- The Script, The Man Who Can't Be Moved_

_Present day…_

Three years brought some perspective. No amount of bribery got Blair where she was today. The best therapy for heartbreak was perhaps to focus incessantly on each challenge presented to you. NYU did not care for society pages or family ties. So she graduated. Almost didn't make it, let alone with honours – the heart, it remembers – but she did and that, more than her diploma, was proof enough that life lived on beyond heartbreak.

It was morning in New York City, a splendid one with a gorgeous sunrise of deep reds and yellows and oranges that burned the sky with their brightness, and Blair Waldorf stood in full spy mode, traditional beret and all, looking forward to today's entertaining chase: the next potential investor of Waldorf Designs.

"Oh, Blair," Eleanor sighed long-sufferingly in her ear, "I thought I told you all that was unnecessary. Did you do that background check, at least?"

Blair rolled her eyes. She'd only been doing the best accounting job Waldorf Designs had ever seen. "Am I the skeptical-slash-paranoid girl you gave birth to?" The rhetorical question was quickly followed by, "Of course I did," as she kept watch for the oil tycoon heir whose bank accounts constantly played yo-yo. She _had_ to find out where he was spending those millions and, consequently, where he got them.

Another long-suffering sigh. "And?" her mother asked tiredly. Long hours at the atelier.

Blair ground her teeth. Dammit. "And his accounts are still crazy," she bit out.

"Is he in debt?"

She cringed, hating, _hating_ the answer. "No," she grunted.

"Then that's settled and please stop embarrassing yourself with your childish games. Now, excuse me, I have a grown-up _meeting_ to attend."

Had she just…? Oh yes she had. "Some people do this for a living, you know!" Blair screeched to the sudden static, quite sure she was making her spectacle of herself on the street corner, no less.

Swearing under her breath, Blair snapped her mobile shut and shoved it in her coat pocket, momentarily hugging herself against the sudden chilly breeze. _When_ would her mother understand? Just because she had a Finance degree, it did not mean she would shackle herself willingly to an office desk for the rest of her life. Yes, she loved her job but, oftentimes, the information she could glean from a truly thorough check saved her mother some financial headaches. She had unmasked a crook masquerading as a society matron last month. Her mother's precious company was not impervious to sneaky machinations and deceit. The world itself was not. But there would be no teaching Eleanor, who pounced on buyers like a starved kitten on milk.

"Only looking out for you, mother. Sorry you don't get it," she grumbled to the air around her before shaking herself.

Right. Business.

Slipping on her shades to block the glare of the sun, Blair sneaked a look around the corner. The heir's shiny black limousine was still parked there. Good. Checking her watch, Blair frowned. It wasn't like him–

"Still spying on unsuspecting gentlemen?"

That voice sent her squeaking, jumping and whirling in a most unladylike manner. And then she froze. "Chuck Bass?"

#

In that moment she felt fear, pure and unadulterated, pistoning her from inside. _Ba boom, ba boom_. "What are you doing here?" she asked, and even she heard the note of panic in her voice.

For a beat Chuck merely stood like a motionless, mute memory, until he stared down suddenly – abashedly – at his shuffling feet. "Business needs me back here," he replied quietly. When she remained silent he looked up and, as always, his piercing eyes decoded everything she wasn't saying, wasn't asking, and wasn't going to. "You knew where I was, didn't you?"

Blair averted her gaze, confirming his suspicion. "You didn't change your name," she said, almost like an accusation, with a shrug. "I found you."

Chuck inclined his head. They both knew none of them had inherited their natural curiosity from their parents' DNA's. No, only from pushing each other through their successes and especially failures. "Impressing." In the past he'd always been the one doing the research, thanks to his inexhaustible lists of contacts. But she? She'd clearly done it alone.

The compliment only had her squaring her jaw, lifting her chin as though daring him to criticise her weakness even after she'd stopped calling. She schooled her features, but didn't bolt. She never did.

Chuck leaned in, caressing the silk of her cheek and peering into the dark pools of her eyes. She looked less tired than she probably felt, but his little fighter was not giving an inch. He drew back, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "You look like you could use a cocktail."

Her eyes dulled, the phrase from a not so distant past a pain to hear again. "Why?" she demanded, wariness seeping into the monosyllabic question.

Chuck stood back a bit, leaning against the nearest parked car. "Catch up," he replied simply, eyeing her response closely.

"Like old friends," she said, and it was not a question. Suspicion had her narrowing her gaze at him, but even through it all he did sense… hope.

He built on that. "Like old friends," he agreed quietly.

Her delicate jaw worked a moment as she deliberated, then she whirled back to check on her quarry around the corner. Swearing under her breath – the heir and his car were gone – she turned back around and nodded warily. "Okay."

#

The Russian Tea Room had barely changed, but that was not what made Blair truly question her sanity. Berating herself viciously even as they were being whisked into the fragrant establishment toward a private partitioned booth in the back and away from the other customers, Blair glared at Chuck's back. Couldn't help the niggling certainty that he had orchestrated this all for another purpose than to rekindle a fifteen year-old friendship of acceptance and teamwork.

It had been easy then; her heart had not been torn every which way five years ago. Until a champagne, burlesque and limousine-filled night had sent her into a whirlwind of confusion… for a long time.

Yet as she looked around the truly painful memory of when he'd thrown her away – _you're free to go­_ – came to the forefront of her mind and she felt the walls close in on her. She did not want to be here. Anywhere but here. Here she was, though, face-to-face with her own demon.

"Blair…"

Blair realised they'd both sat down without her knowing. Numb, she was numb. And locked in an internal battle to remain in control of emotions she'd thought herself immune to several minutes ago.

Chuck said her name exactly like he used to. Said it back then, here, at the bar when she'd only been waiting for… she'd have settled for less than "I love you", perhaps. She would never know. But he'd shattered her hopes then, too, with a broken voice and well-placed words. Blair hated bars. Bad luck all around.

Blair glanced away sharply, sipping her cocktail to keep her emotions tucked away, unharmed for once. She couldn't listen, couldn't…

"I still love you," he continued in barely a whisper. _Damn_ him. a warm palm cradled her cheek and she ground her teeth beneath his hated, soft touch.

"Don't," Blair growled roughly before her restraint – _stay in, stay _in – could crumble. She would _not_ be weak. She would not be prey to mind games again. Never, never again.

His voice, husky with emotion before – she wanted the hard, unyielding, jaded _I'm Chuck Bass_ boy if only to feel some semblance of confidence – was now utterly stripped with shame and guilt she'd rather have heard three years ago when he left her. "I'm so sorry, Blair. I swear, I will make it up to–"

"Is that why you came back?" Blair snapped, eyes narrowed on him with hatred. "To claim me again like nothing happened?" Tears filled her red-ringed eyes even as she spoke.

Chuck didn't speak. Couldn't.

"Answer me," she snapped again in the quiet of their removed space.

His silence still spoke volumes in the dead air.

Blair wilted before his eyes, shoulders slumping and voice shaking in… anger, rage, pain, doubt, hurt. "You said you wanted to catch up, like old friends." She paused, so broken, toying numbly with the thin, fragile stem of her glass. Wasn't it ironic that she felt just as brittle? "You can't do this to me, Chuck. Not again. I'm… I'm… I can't. I'm not that easily manipulated girl anymore." Her voice broke, the dam as well, and Chuck swore and grasped her small hand within his, helpless before her tears and her crumpled features.

_You never were_. "Please," he breathed, hating what he'd done – again. "Forgive me."

Tearful, stinging eyes and barely restrained wracking sobs, she shook her head at him sadly. "It's not that simple."

Chuck inclined his head. Nothing ever was. He'd learned that lesson the difficult way. He'd hoped it would be simpler, but hadn't deluded himself into wishing too hard either. "I know," he murmured softly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, knowing the motion soothed her. "Blair, I never forgot. Never. You were always there with me… haunting me. I felt…" He cleared his throat raggedly. "You have no idea how many times I almost boarded a plane."

For a moment she was silent, absorbing the information. Chuck's chest went into overdrive. But then she sighed. "You could have."

"I was scared," he countered quietly.

Blair was experiencing too much _déjà vu_. "I know. I knew." She stared, as though waiting for more.

Waiting for what? "I'm sorry." The words hung heavy on his hide. Too little, he knew.

"What's different this time, Chuck? What tells me you wouldn't run again when the going got too good to be true?" She shook her head, tired without and within. "I can't."

"Blair, _please_."

Shuddering at their magic word that used to do impossibles, Blair felt her resolve crack at the seams. "Don't…" she said, knowing the word now lacked conviction.

He repeated his earlier words, lending them far more emotion than all the pale ghosts of her memories. "I still love you, Blair." Choked up, Chuck squeezed her hand and begged her through touch and pleading eyes.

Fighting for composure she felt slipping right through her fingers, Blair squeezed back. "I still love you, too," she whispered with feeling, then heaved a shaky breath and added, "Give me time."

Time was something that had been tearing him apart for three years, but Chuck nevertheless watched Blair slipping away. Only, halfway across the room, she looked back, paused, and then edged back to him. laying her hand on his cheek – the touch warm and welcome – she bent her head and kissed his other cheek, the press of lips so light he almost thought he'd imagined it.

Then she was truly gone.


End file.
